


wash you away

by kirargent



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, First Kiss, Hate to Love, Love/Hate, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5086006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirargent/pseuds/kirargent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They kill a guy; Laurel’s cool as anything. They might be getting arrested; Laurel has a quickie in the basement with Frank. They’re on their way to dig through Wes’s garbage on a night when the November rain is coming down icy and fast—and Laurel is mocking her, smirking at every turn like nothing’s fucking <i>wrong with this situation.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	wash you away

“This is the w-w- _worst_  night to be out here,” Michaela complains, voice high, accusatory, and miserable.

Laurel fixes her with a  _look_ , one of those condescending Laurel-Looks that says ‘ _Really, Michaela?’_  and ‘ _I can’t believe I put up with this,’_  and ‘ _Your agony verges on amusing,’_  all at once. “You’re the one who suggested this, remember?” she reminds Michaela. “’Laurel, we can’t trust Wes!’ ‘Laurel, I think we’d better keep an eye on him!’”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Michaela snaps, “you’re mimicking me?  _Really_?”

Laurel snorts, glancing left, right, and backwards before gesturing Michaela after her into the alley behind Wes’s building. “Said the pot to the kettle,” she points out dryly.

Michaela resists a frustrated foot stamp and  _Urgh!_  combo, but it’s a close thing. Laurel is fucking  _annoying_. They kill a guy; Laurel’s cool as anything. They might be getting arrested; Laurel has a quickie in the basement with Frank. They’re on their way to dig through Wes’s garbage on a night when the November rain is coming down icy and fast—and Laurel is mocking her, smirking at every turn like nothing’s fucking  _wrong with this situation_.

“I have class at seven tomorrow,” Michaela says despondently.

“What’s your point?” Laurel says curtly.

Michaela rolls her eyes. “That it’s  _freezing_  out here, and it’s after one, and I planned to never dig through someone’s garbage ever again, and we should just  _leave_!”

Laurel gives her a pitying smile, too exaggerated to ever be mistaken for genuine. “Come on, babe. You’re not wimping out on me, are you?”

Michaela feels the rush of heat that courses up her neck. “Don’t call me  _babe_ ,” she grits out.

Laurel smirks. God, Michaela would like to slap the stupid smug expression off her stupid smug face.

Or maybe kiss it off.

“Why, ‘cause you like it?” Laurel taunts, eyes sparkling.

No, slap. Definitely slap.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Michaela says, giving her a too-sweet smile. Then, rather grimly, tugging up her gloves: “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

Laurel shrugs. She looks like she’s enjoying herself  _way_  too fucking much for their current circumstances. “Whatever you want, babe.”

“What are you, five? I said  _cut it out_.”

“I heard you just fine.” Under her gray knit hat, Laurel’s hair hangs in wet strings against her shoulders. The tip of her nose is pink, and Michaela hates it. There’s a glitter in her eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to cut it out.”

“Okay, and you’re standing way too goddamn close to me,” Michaela snaps, suddenly noticing that Laurel’s wet face is barely a foot away. God, when did that even happen?

“Yeah?” Laurel asks, voice quiet. Her lips hold the smallest of smiles; her eyes catch on Michaela’s for a second, than drag down to her mouth before flicking back up.

Michaela’s lips part. She feels Laurel watch.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding like she’s certain.

“Really,” Laurel challenges. She takes a half step forward so the tips of their boots nearly touch. “This is too close?”

It’s entirely too fucking close.

But Michaela’s mouth is suddenly dry and her throat feels tight and her tongue is frozen in place while the rest of her is in the process of freezing, literally.

Laurel’s smirk creeps bigger. “That’s what I thought,” she whispers.

And her lips are cold, cold, cold,  _cold_  when they press against Michaela’s, the tip of her nose a brush of ice against Michaela’s cheek, but the way Michaela feels hot-cold all over seems fitting, she thinks, because Laurel is fucking infuriating, but also—this kissing thing. This could work for Michaela.

**Author's Note:**

> [also on tumblr](http://kirargent.tumblr.com/post/131988392991/laurelmichaela-under-the-rain)


End file.
